The Parisians, Book 9.

ood graces of Parisian society. I think the Americans get on better with the French than the English do-I mean the higher class of Americans. They spend more money; their men speak French b

soon. American women usually marry so young that it seemed to Mrs. Morley an anomaly in social life, that one so gifted in mind and person as Isaura should already have passed the age in which the belles of the great Republic are enthroned as wives and consecrated as mothers. We have seen that in the past year she had selected from our unworthy but necessary sex, Graham Vane as a suitable spouse to her young friend. She had divined the state of his heart-she had more than suspicions of the state of Isaura's. She was exceedingly perplexed and exceedingly chafed at the Englishman's strange disregard to his happiness and her own projects. She had counted, all this past winter, on his return to Paris; and she became convinced that some misunde

lose to Isaura, while the Colonel, duly instructed, drew off the Veno

keen eyes on Isaura while she put it. She saw the heightened colour, the quivering lip

Vane last nigh

ming to P

gly that wreath becomes you! it

things according to their cost. They would gorge us with jewels, and let us starve for want of a smile. Not that Frank is so bad as the rest of them. But a propos of Mr. Vane-Frank will be sure to see him, and

ng indifference: "I believe this is the height of the London season, and Mr. V

famous: what will be his admiration now! men are so vain-they care for us so much more when people pr

on her the effect which a candle has on a moth-she fluttered round it, and longed to absorb herself in its blaze. But the wreath especially fascinated her-a wreath which no prudent lady with colourings less pure, and features less exquisitely delicate than the pretty champion of

and bought it," and Mrs. Morley glanced

roducing into its forms the dainty Americanisms with which he puzzled the Britisher-he might well puzzle the Florentine,-"Madame, I am too anxious for the appearance of my wife to submit to the test of

er be jealous of a woman's rivalry with women;" and then, with a cynicism that might have become a greybeard, sh

only shows," said Mrs. Morley, rising, "what villains the

o go," said Frank, g

of wives, Mrs. Morley here kissed Isaura, resettled her crinol

ed the Venosta, impishly. "La sper

u not remember what the poet replied when asked what disease was